Captive
by MiladyGirl
Summary: The Replicator has captured Blake. But Blake is fighting back. Rated M for theme.


**A/N**

I've been wanting to write something on Blake's close encounter with the Replicator for ages, but never really gotten around to it, because the idea I had was so dark. But I finally got around to write it, and, well… I didn't have the ending figured out when I started writing, so, what can I say, Blake figured it out by herself. Not bad for a fictional character, wouldn't you agree? 😊

 **Trigger warning: attempted rape.**

* * *

Deep inside, she had known this was how it would go. Why? She had no idea. It just seemed fitting; it seemed like the kind of scenario that somehow had to happen. Maybe the word she was looking for was fate. John Curtis had after all been degraded because of her actions. She had only been one peg above him in the hierarchy, but that still made her the agent in charge, and her mistake had ruined his career. One level of the house of cards coming crashing down on the next.

That alone might not have made her the target for his anger, if it hadn't been for the fact that Erin Strauss had chosen between them, decided whose career would survive… and she had picked Blake. Even that might not have directed his anger towards Blake, but she could see in his eyes that he knew _why_. It wasn't because Blake necessarily was the better agent, or because of some break-the-glass-ceiling kind of loyalty, it was simpler than that. It was because Strauss couldn't bear to completely ruin a former lover.

 _That_ was what John Curtis could not see past. Blake had diplomatically ignored his clumsy initial attempts at flirting, and they had been able to work well together, but she knew he never got over her rejection, as subtle as it had been. He had, grudgingly, accepted that she was married and therefore was off limits. Figuring out that she not only was willing to put her marriage aside for an affair, but did so with _Strauss_ of all people, that must have been the last straw.

So that was why she was here, chained to a chair and still with the bitter taste of the knockout gas lingering in the back of her throat. She was aching all over and suspected that he hadn't exactly carried her gently over here – wherever "here" was – but rather dragged and kicked her around like a bag of sand. Her lungs burned from inhaling whatever he had used to sedate her, and she was vaguely aware that she had spit running down her chin. Or was it blood? She didn't think her mouth was hurt, but she was still so numb she wasn't sure.

Any hope she might have had of breaking free died when she felt the cold metal against her wrists, and heard the metallic rattling of the chain. Had he just tied her with rope, she might have been alright, she remembered how lousy he was at tying knots, but chains… that was a different story. An almost perverted one, because chains had been part of her past thing with Strauss. Cold metal and sweaty leather and Erin Strauss whispering _how long can you take it, Alex, how long until pleasure becomes pain and pain becomes pleasure…_

Well. She was definitely _not_ feeling any pleasure right now. Fear wasn't good soil for pleasure to grow in. Still, she had to somehow endure whatever he was going to do to her.

"What do you want?" she groaned. Her eyes streamed and her vision was blurry, it was hard to speak and even harder to keep her head up, but even in this wretched state she knew the effects of the drug were wearing off quicker than she had expected. Maybe she had a chance after all.

"You're the profiler. You tell me."

 _Where do I even begin?_

"You don't wanna know."

"Reversed psychology," he nodded. "I'm not gonna beg for your analysis."

"You don't have to beg. I already know how desperate you are for it."

He made a move as to punch her in the face and she turned her head to the side, steeling herself for a blow that didn't come. That could have been a mistake, but instead it seemed to sincerely amuse him.

"I don't remember you being so skittish," he mocked. That tone of voice infuriated her, and that was good. She could work with anger.

"What, you've never seen me in chains before?" she said.

"I've seen you with your hands tied, so to speak," he said, and just like that she knew beyond any doubt that he knew about her and Strauss. "You know, I always wondered why Strauss gave you my chance. Then I found out."

He took out a thumbed, sun-bleached piece of glossy paper and tossed it at her. Even though she hadn't seen it in years, she recognised it immediately. It was the invitation card to the club where she and Strauss went for their rendezvous. A discreet adult club where you couldn't get into the inner rooms without the invitation card.

"You know, I wouldn't even have known what this place was if I hadn't been on a team raiding it on a drug suspicion charge a few years before. Didn't find anything, but that doesn't mean there isn't any."

Blake didn't respond. She was pretty sure there were drugs circulating there, like there were in most clubs, but the owner really tried to run a clean establishment. As if reading her mind, Curtis said;

"It is pretty high-end for a porn club. Not as sleazy as some places."

 _I'm sure you have a lot of experience in that department_ , she thought.

"It wasn't much of a secret that Strauss had an interest in that stuff, but _you_ , Alex? I couldn't believe my eyes when that card slipped out of your purse when you took out that pen. You remember? The pen I borrowed to sign my transfer papers?"

"What a gentlemanly thing to do," Blake said, letting the sarcasm flow freely. "Not only pretending you didn't see me dropping it, but also taking it off my hands."

"I'd be very careful with that sarcastic tongue if I were you," he said.

"Well, luckily, you're not me."

This time he did throw that punch. At the last moment he held back a little, not striking her full force, but it was still enough to split her lip open and knock her head back against the chair. She saw small dots of light flash before her eyes.

"I had actually intended to reunite you and the team with your pretty face still intact," he said, "but hell, even the best laid plans need some adjustments as you go along."

"I know what you mean," Blake said and spat out some blood. "I can't say I planned this when I went out to arrest you for all the murders you committed. All this for… what, exactly?"

"You ruined my life," he said. "First you rejected me. Then you and Erin destroyed my career. You with your incompetence, Erin with her disgusting devotion to you. I got my revenge on her, now it's your time to pay."

"You don't have to hurt the team," she said. "If this is about me, you can let them go."

"Oh, I don't think so. Then you'll get to die a martyr's death, sacrificing yourself for the BAU. No, you're going to suffer. Unfortunately, not as long as I'd like you to, but it'll have to do."

He cocked his head to the side, a grotesquely charming gesture, and said in a soft voice;

"Are you scared yet?"

Scared didn't begin to cover it. She was _terrified_ , for her own sake and the others', ashamed and guilty over being the root of all this, all the gruesome deaths. So, if you thought about it, no, she wasn't _scared_. It was just semantics, true, but still.

"I wouldn't call it scared," she replied and for a moment his face dropped, as if he was hurt. The mask of superiority was quickly in place again, but his little slip offered her important information.

"You should be," he said. "I can do things to you that will make Erin's death look like a mercy kill."

 _I'm sure you can_ , she thought. _And it's better if you're so caught up doing it that you forget the rest of the team are on their way. They might take you by surprise. Maybe_ they _at least can get out of this alive._

"You know what I think?" she said. "My profile of you? I think you're more talk than action. You like to kill from a distance. I don't think you have the guts to torture me in person."

"There are more ways to torture someone than hands on," he said. "You think the Doctor Death drug and the sedative gas are the only biochemicals I have? Among many others, one little thing I've been working on coagulates the blood in major blood vessels. That would take about 24 hours to kill. I could release you and you would still be dead by this time tomorrow. The components wouldn't make you confused, so you would know exactly what was happening to you, and you wouldn't be able to do a damn thing about it."

"You really are crazy," she said.

"I'm not crazy!" he shouted. "I'm _brilliant_ , and it's time people stop pushing me aside like I'm dirt!"

In his anger, he reached out and grabbed her shoulders with both hands, shaking her. The chain around her neck dug painfully into her throat and she whimpered. He slowly relaxed his grip and she took several deep breaths, swallowing blood and tasting copper. He looked deeply conflicted, and Blake, unfortunately, knew why. She had felt it when his body pressed up against hers. His carefully constructed plan was in disarray, she didn't respond to him the way he predicted, but what he wanted to do, what he truly wanted to do, was to rape her.

The question was, why didn't he?

 _Because then he'd have to unchain me. He's too big to get on top of me in this chair._

Yes, but she was in no condition to win over him in a physical fight even if he did release her and throw her on the floor.

 _He doesn't want me out of the chair. Why?_

Blake's eyes widened as the answer dawned on her. Because that was the _real_ trap. The entire house was a bomb, and she was the trigger. If the team saved her, it would kill them either way.

Blake looked down and wondered if this was where she should pray, but she had no one to pray to. She only had herself to turn to right now, and she had to use everything she had. Panic and breakdowns would have to wait, as much as she wanted to give in to them. She had to think.

"Chains," she said. "Interesting choice of restraint."

"Profiler in action, huh? Trying to figure out if they have a symbolic meaning? Or what the Latin word for chained is?" he taunted.

"I was actually wondering if you had been spying on me and Erin. You know, that was her favourite choice for bondage. I was more into leather straps myself."

"Shut up!"

Ah. So this was the tender spot after all.

"Such meticulous planning, yet you'll never get to do what you really wanted."

"I can change my plans whenever I want to," he growled.

"No, you can't." She tugged at the chains restraining her wrists. "Because if you get me out of this chair, you too will get blown up, am I right? Oh, I have no doubts you can make my last moments in life very, very painful, but there's only so much you _can_ do if I'm in fact sitting on the trigger." And she finished this statement with a wide, fake, sardonic smile.

The anger in his eyes was flashing white-hot, so evident it made her stomach churn, and then he did what she had expected him to do.

He deactivated the bomb with a remote before he started to get the chains off her.

Blake knew she would die a horrific death… but at least the rest of the team wouldn't get blown up in their attempt to save her. _If_ she could hold out long enough for them to get here before he reactivated the bomb, that was.

She had hoped he wouldn't bother tying her hands again, giving her a chance to fight, but he was prepared with plastic straps. He left the chain around her neck, presumably so he could choke her when he was finished with her, then pushed her unceremoniously down onto the concrete floor. Unable to break the fall with her hands, she landed on one shoulder and hip, and the pain made her moan.

Then he was over her, pinning her down with his body weight. One of his hands held the chain tight and the other started undoing her belt. While he was busy doing that, Blake saw something that gave her some hope. He had of course taken her gun from her, but he had one of his own.

And he had forgotten he still carried it.

She arched her back up from the hard floor and thrust her tied hands upwards, knowing there was no time to get the gun fully out of the holster and take aim. She would have to shoot blindly.

 _Maybe all I'll manage to do is put a bullet in myself_ , she thought with bitter clarity, then pulled the trigger, firing the gun straight through the holster in an angle she hoped would hit him.

It did.

John Curtis, also known as The Replicator, screamed in pain and pulled away from her. In the process, he yanked the chain tight around her neck and cut off her oxygen. Everything in Blake wanted to panic at the feeling of not being able to breathe, but there was something else that had happened as he pulled back. The gun had slid out of the holster and was still in her hands. She fired it twice. The first bullet swished by his neck, so close it clipped his earlobe. The second hit him right above the cheekbone, going in an upward angle. Had he fallen backwards, the sudden, jerking movement might very well have broken her neck, but instead he fell forward, on top of her, which at least made the pressure on her neck loosen. There was no heartbeat left in the deadweight that kept her down. There couldn't have been. She had, quite literally, blown his brain out. The Replicator was dead. Finally, he was dead.

 _That was for us, Erin. God, how I wish things would have turned out differently for us._

She managed to push Curtis at least halfway off her torso so she could breathe again, then she laid her head down on the cold floor, waiting for the team to come and get her out of there.


End file.
